CHAPTER 168: THE OTHER LOGAN

–Logan–

I think Livana’s trying to shove me toward Jane, like some matchmaking godmother with a twisted sense of humor. As if I’d ever fall for Jane. She’s not my type, and judging by the way she looks at me—like I’m a cockroach she can’t quite squash—I’m definitely not hers either. Teasing her is just a sport. She’s not Laura. And God, Laura... don’t even get me started. My first love, the one who ditched me for her best friend. Yeah. Try not to gag.

"Not again." Jane’s voice sliced through my train of thought. She eyed the cigarette dangling between my fingers like it was a live grenade. "You should sit in the backseat."

She looked like her usual self—minimalist. Denim skinny jeans, black ankle boots, a leather jacket that fit like it was stitched onto her, hair yanked into a ponytail so tight it looked like it might rip her scalp off. No makeup, no fuss. Just moisturizer and attitude.

"What?" she snapped, noticing my stare.

"Nothing, chauffeur." I smirked, pulling open the driver’s side door for her.

I crushed the cigarette into the ashtray built into the trash bin, savoring the hiss of it dying out. I don’t even smoke. I only picked it up after catching Laura playing mattress gymnastics with Damien. Some habits are born out of trauma, not taste.

Right on cue, Wally pranced out of the house looking like a rejected disco ball, Kai and Caine trailing behind him. The girls took their sweet time, of course. Deanne and Sophia finally strutted out—both dressed to kill. Deanne especially... Christ.

My stomach turned when Caine wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her like he was trying to inhale her whole soul. I nearly choked. A public biology lesson no one asked for. I bolted for the shotgun seat before I had to endure that horror show from two feet away.

Seriously, why the hell were all of Livana’s women magnetized to Blackwell men? Some twisted cosmic joke?

"Didn’t I tell you to sit in the back?" Jane’s voice was sharp enough to cut glass.

"Jane, have mercy. If I sit back there, I’ll need bleach for my eyes. They’re two seconds away from staging a live orgy."

"That’s disgusting!" Deanne snapped.

"You’re welcome for the visual," I muttered, rolling my eyes.

Jane fired up the engine, cracked my window open without asking—airing out the ghost of smoke clinging to me—and shoved mouth spray and gum into my hand. Classic Jane: no words, just silent judgment and solutions. I obliged. She was our sober driver. The least I could do was play semi-obedient.

The drive stretched an hour and a half, the kind of silence that isn’t really silence because the backseat was a zoo. Sophia and Kai had their eyes locked in some gooey, nauseating trance. If they ever blink, the world might actually implode. Deanne and Caine weren’t as bad—he hovered over her like a hawk guarding his meal. At least I respected that.

Then there was Wally and Caine, murdering a perfectly good song. Off-key, loud, like two wounded hyenas dueling for dominance. Sophia eventually joined in, Deanne groaned, and Kai laughed. The whole backseat turned into a third-rate karaoke bar on wheels.

Jane endured it with the patience of a saint and the face of someone reconsidering all her life choices. By the time we rolled into Damon’s mansion, she parked the car with surgical precision, cut the engine, and barked, "Out."

The rest scrambled, still buzzing with their circus energy. I leaned forward, snatched the keys, and killed the ignition just to irritate her. Then I stepped out, circled around, opened her door, and unbuckled her like she was some stubborn toddler refusing to leave a stroller.

She exhaled through her nose, grabbed her bag, and stood. I grinned like the smug bastard I am.

"Come on. I’ll buy you all the mocktails you can stomach."

Her look could’ve melted steel. "Seriously. I have somewhere to be."

And that’s when I froze.

"Jane?"

A man’s voice.

I turned. A group loitered near a sleek black car in front of us. Jane cursed under her breath—so sharp and quiet, I barely caught it. Her body stiffened. She knew exactly where we were, and she hated it. This wasn’t just any club—it was the club. Damon’s territory. Exclusive, elite, crawling with men who looked like they ate money for breakfast.

One of them detached from the group and walked toward us. Tall. Broad. Neat undercut. Full beard. He was maybe an inch shorter than me, but he walked like he owned the ground under his feet.

And he knew Jane.

Caine noticed too, squinting at us from a distance with that dumb what-the-hell expression plastered across his face.

"Hey, Logan," Jane said, flat and cool.

I froze mid-step. Wait. His name is Logan?

I turned my head toward her, slow, deliberate. "His name is Logan?"

Jane flicked a glance at me but offered nothing. Silence—that maddening, passive-aggressive silence she’d mastered.

I laughed, loud and sharp. Couldn’t help it. Two Logans. What were the odds? Fate really had a sick sense of humor.

The other Logan—let’s call him Beard Logan—looked puzzled, maybe even offended that I found the situation hilarious. He extended his hand, eyes sizing me up. "So, you’ve got friends? I’m Logan Sevilla."

"Oh, Sevilla," I repeated, gripping his hand just a fraction tighter than polite. Testing ground, firm squeeze, a flash of dominance.

I smiled like a bastard. "Call me Zachary."

I didn’t give him the rest. Not my surname, not a crumb. Let him choke on curiosity.

"Nice to meet you." He nodded stiffly and gestured to his entourage loitering behind him like overdressed hyenas. "These are my friends. We’re co-owners of the club. Since you’re friends with Jane~~"

"It’s fine, Logan," Jane cut in before he could finish, her tone sharp as glass. "They have money."

Casual. Too casual. But I knew her well enough to catch the undertone. She was trying not to let this guy crawl under her skin.

Kai stepped into the conversation like he’d been waiting for his cue. "Don’t worry, Bro. We already reserved a room."

Sevilla Logan turned to him, eyebrows rising. "Well, tell us your room number. We can arrange something better~~"

Jane sighed, a sound dripping with contempt.

"Logan, they already reserved the VVIP suite."

Her delivery was brutal—no raise in volume, no theatrics. Just cold, efficient, surgical precision. His ego took the hit. I almost applauded.

"Yeah," I added, slinging my arm over Jane’s shoulders, pulling her into my space like she belonged there. "Nice to meet you, Logan. But our girls are eager to party."

His smile faltered, wounded pride barely concealed. Perfect. I steered Jane toward the entrance without giving him another glance.

"Oh, myyy," Sophia’s grin was practically feral. "I want the tea on you and the other Logan."

I smirked. "I wonder why you dislike me so much. Found the reason now, huh? Ex-boyfriend?"

Jane groaned. "Please. Worst experience of my life."

I chuckled. "Just call me Zach or Zachary for now."

"Wait—your name is Zachary too?" Wally butted in, confused.

I turned my head slowly, deliberately, and winked. "Jane, you should get used to my new name, okay?" I kept laughing, enjoying the way her face soured like she’d bitten a lemon.

"Stop it," she hissed, shoving at my arm. I ducked close, my voice low.

"One way to get rid of an ex is to let him know you’re taken."

"There’s no need. That bastard had women lined up."

We reached the reception desk, and a smaller man bounced forward, shaking Kai’s and Caine’s hands enthusiastically. "Kai! Caine! Welcome! The VVIP room is ready. Oh—hi Jane!"

Jane’s smile was razor-thin, brittle.

"Where’s Damon?" the man asked, scanning past us.

"With his wife," Kai replied easily. "Now lead us to the VVIP room, Scott."

Jane finally shoved my arm off as I chuckled under my breath. Sophia slid by me, whispering like the devil on my shoulder.

"Now we know why Jane hates you. You’re probably just like Logan Sevilla."

I stopped cold, glaring daggers at her. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Really?"

She just giggled, infuriatingly unbothered. "That’s just my assumption."

The VVIP room was massive—wide enough to host a wedding, sleek enough to scream money. Turntable gleaming under neon light, a karaoke system hooked up to a screen bigger than a cinema, a polished dance floor waiting to be abused. The fridge was stocked, and—best part—we had our own barman stationed like a soldier ready to serve.

Jane wasted no time making herself comfortable. She sank into one of the leather couches, legs crossed, arms folded tight, every line of her body screaming do not disturb. Naturally, I disturbed.

I smirked and sauntered to the bar. "Piña Colada and a glass of whiskey."

The barman didn’t even blink. Two minutes later, I had both. I strolled back, placed the cocktail in front of Jane, then slid into the seat beside her—leaving just enough space to make it seem polite, just close enough to make it deliberate.

I let out a theatrical sigh. "So?"

Her head tilted lazily, eyes narrowing. "What?" Her tone could’ve frozen boiling water.

"Do you hate it because I’ve got the same name as your past Logan?" I asked, smirk tugging at my lips.

Her glare sharpened. "Please don’t ever mix your and Logan in the same sentence again." She looked like she’d just bitten into something rotten.

I chuckled low, enjoying her disgust like it was foreplay. "Curious. But fine. From now on, call me Zach. Or Zachary. Or hell—Maxwell. My surname has a nice ring, don’t you think?"

She didn’t miss a beat. "Hmm. I think I’ll stick with not mentioning your name at all. But yes, you’re annoying." Delivered flat, casual, like she was telling me the weather.

I leaned back, watching the rest of the circus unfold. Deanne shrugged off her coat with the grace of a queen, then tugged Caine toward the dance floor. His grin was smug; hers was lethal. A perfect match.

My smirk died the second the door opened. Scott entered, arms full of hors d’oeuvres, a squad of servers trailing behind him. But he wasn’t alone. He’d dragged Beard Logan—Sevilla—into the lion’s den. And Sevilla’s eyes? They went straight to Deanne, crawling over her body like he was starving.

My jaw tightened. Jane noticed too—her posture stiffened, lips pressing thin.

"Guys," Scott chirped, oblivious to the tension, "I’d like to introduce you to my partners."

Caine moved instantly, stepping in front of Deanne like a human shield. Good. At least someone here had instincts. I silently approved, one hundred percent.

I leaned toward Jane, close enough that my breath brushed her ear. "I need details about that lascivious gaze your ex-man just threw." My voice dropped into a growl. "Because I don’t like it."

Deanne, unbothered queen that she was, faced Sevilla head-on. "Logan, right?" Her tone was icy, professional. "No need for further introduction."

His chest puffed like he’d won something. Idiot.

Kai, ever the diplomat, chuckled to soften the edge.

Scott, still clueless, turned to Deanne. "My apologies, miss...?"

"This is Deanne," Caine cut in smoothly, voice sharp with ownership. "My girlfriend."

Sevilla’s expression soured, but he masked it quickly. Scott filled the silence. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Deanne."

She gave him a small nod, nothing more.

"I hope you’re enjoying the club," Sevilla said, forcing a charm. "You should visit the Fountain of Aphrodite before you leave. It’s... quite the experience."

His attempt at small talk stank of desperation.

I stayed quiet, watching Kai navigate the conversation with practiced ease, diffusing it before it curdled into open hostility. Deanne gave nothing away—cold, polished, untouchable.

I leaned toward Jane again, my voice pitched low, dangerous. "Deanne doesn’t like to be looked at like that."

"She has every right to hate that asshole," Jane whispered back, sharp as a knife.

And just like that, I wanted more. More details, more venom, more pieces of the puzzle between her and Sevilla. Whatever it was, it was personal. And I wasn’t letting it go.